Of Acronyms, Hard Work and Education
by hellopurpletiger
Summary: To any outsiders, Mr and Mrs Dursley and their son looked like one happy, albeit indulgent family; but this had all shifted once Harry had began M.E.E.P (My Extravagant Escape Plan). It was an intricate, long winded plan that had begun one evening whilst the Dursley's had been watching TV and Harry himself in his cupboard. -"...education is the key to sucess." (muggle au) WIP


It was five o' clock in the morning in Little Whinging, Surrey. In the smallest room of Number 4, Privet Drive, Harry Potter groaned and slammed his pillow over his head. Why were the birds so bloody noisy in the morning? He stayed still; content to be cocooned within his sheets.

It was something he'd taken to enjoying recently – just laying in bed, a fuzzy numbness stealing over his body. Yes, the mattress had no bed frame to go with it and yes, no matter how many times he squirmed and fidgeted he could never quite be comfortable, but it was certainly very nice.

Cautiously, he lifted the edge of the pillow – one of Dudley's old plushies – away from his ears. Ah! The birds had finally –

TWEET TWEET TWEEEEEEEET

It was official. He hated birds.

With scowl he sat up and stretched, cat-like, in his tangled nest of sheets and hauled himself out of bed, stumbling for the bathroom across the hall. The house was quiet and peaceful, Harry noted as a yawn made his jaw crack, no stupid birdsong, no stupid school, it was great. But ew, his breath really stank!

Entering the bathroom, he mechanically began his morning ablutions, making sure to put a healthy dollop of toothpaste on his brush. The boy in the mirror stared back at him blankly, inky black hair a crow's nest from tossing and turning in his sleep, mouth open with white foam. Hmm, attractive.

He was washing his face when he noticed it. There was a yellow post-note tacked right in the centre of the otherwise gleaming mirror. He must have put it there before going to bed. Glasses were such a pain, he scowled as he trekked back to his room, yellow note in hand.

Harry Potter jammed his glasses on his nose and looked back at the note, the squiggle immediately came focus and… He paled.

THE DURSLEY'S COME HOME TODAY AT 9:00PM

There wasn't a lot that scared Harry, he'd just like to say. He was fourteen years of age after all, well, nearly fourteen. He didn't mind scary movies, enjoyed vectors and trigonometry, loved all three science subjects, breezed through essays and had practically grown up with spiders and the dark. But his blood relatives (they were _not family)_ coming home from holiday was terrifying.

To any outsiders, Mr and Mrs Dursley and their son looked like one happy, albeit indulgent family – but this had all shifted once Harry had began M.E.E.P (My Extravagant Escape Plan – yes, he knew it was weird but he was six when he made up the name!). It was an intricate, long winded plan that had begun one evening whilst the Dursley's had been watching tv and Harry himself in his cupboard.

One way or the other, the subject of Dudley's education had come up. Uncle Vernon wanted Dudley in some posh, private school called Smeltings but Aunt Petunia wanted her Duddykins to be close by and live at home. It was a particularly loud talk and despite not being able to see anything, Harry had pressed his ear against the door eager for some good quality entertainment. Uncle Vernon's anger was really quite amusing when not directed at him. He covered his mouth with both hands in an attempt to silence the giggles, bright green eyes shining with mirth as he watched the walrus's face go from pale, to pink, to fire-engine red, before settling on an ugly shade of puce – all in the space of a few seconds which was quite impressive really.

 _"…anyone that gets into Smeltings is set for life! Think of the connections there...not have the boy coddled…nancy boy! ...education is key to success…"_

Those words had set about a chain reaction in young Mr Potter's brain. Up until this point, he had been aware that a cupboard was not the ideal environment for a kid and that despite not having parents, his guardians' treatment of him - the beatings, the nasty words, the starvation – was not normal, no matter what they said. However, Harry had never even thought of escaping, better the devil you know, and all that rot…but now? Uncle Vernon had just given him the route out.

 _"education is key to success"_

It was one thing - he had had a rebellious streak a mile wide even at six years old - to be beaten at home for chores and yelled at by his guardians but surely he wouldn't be staying with them forever. He scored his first A the next day, for remembering all of the spelling words. Dudley might win battles at home, but Harry would claim the victory at school, he'd decided. He breezed through Year 2, absorbing the words and times-tables like a sponge and when Uncle Vernon got his belt out for 'showing Dudley up'? Well, he would just viciously work harder.

It was satisfying to watch their faces sour as the teachers heaped him with praise as they realised that there was no way he could have cheated off of Dudley, who was failing every single subject.

For the next couple years, he set himself a pattern. When he woke up, he would do his chores, make breakfast, and then slip out whilst the Dursleys ate to walk to school. Harry did all his work in class without fail and then spent breaks and lunchtimes in the quietness of the school library, snacking on crackers he took from Aunt Petunia's stash from a past health streak. It was a little lonely at times, none of the other kids had to but whenever he felt like crying he just reminded himself that _"education is key to success"._ The library seemed to repel Dudley and his followers and most of the other kids didn't seem to like studying much anyways, so he comforted himself in the pages on the shelves. Stories of dragons, wizards and magic became his friends, the forest and the sea his home and the heroes and legends his family. By the time he was nine, Harry James Potter had read every single novel from fantasy, to sci-fi, to historical dramas. So he moved to the non-fiction area instead.

Slowly but surely, his hard work began to pay off. Teachers began looking at him fondly when he answered questions in class. They began to take note when his answers began to surpass others, when he started looking bored in lessons despite his consistent As. One teacher even called him 'gifted'.

Of course, they'd said it to the Dursleys so he only heard about it when Uncle Vernon loosened his belt on his back, spat in harsh spite:

" _I'll show you how_ GIFTED _you are!"_

No, Harry thought, I'll show you. He was ten when his SATs had come back. They weren't national exams or certifications or anything, just a standard assessment test for ten to eleven year olds that were sort of like entrance exams to the high school of your choice. If you scored high enough, then you could get accepted into private schools but if you didn't then it was public school for you. Harry had received the highest score in the county and if he had applied to any of the posh schools then he probably could have been accepted.

Of course, he couldn't so much as twitch a finger before the Dursleys hurled him straight at Stonewall High. It was no Eton, but still a decent school with a huge number of students because it was the only other secondary school, barring Smeltings, in the area of Greater Whinging. So the rivalry between the posh school and public school was intense and pretty explosive. Harry had settled in pretty well there though, so he couldn't complain. The teachers made sure he kept working hard, plying on extra credit assignments and other assessment tests. The rest of the time he alternated between the library and Stonewall's swimming club. Joining a sport had not been a part of his plan but Mr de Luca, the Spanish teacher, had pointing out, shaking his head that _if he was planning on going to a good university then he needed to be a good all-round student, not just a smart kid._

The only downside to Stonewall was Dudley, but even that wasn't too bad. Aunt Petunia might have gotten the Smelting's uniform but the posh, grammar school had taken one glance at Dudley's SAT scores and school reports and had refused him a place. Stonewall had accepted him hesitantly but within a matter of days Dudley had the whole school hating him. Dudley was a fat, obnoxious snot of a firstie, who couldn't stop harping on about how he thought Stonewall was the worst school he'd ever seen and how it was 'lucky to have him'. So a kind group of burly Year 10s had cornered him around the back of school, for some friendly banter they said, and shaved the word 'NANCY' into the back of his head.

The feeling of glee that came afterwards when he'd seen Dudley come home whilst he was working in the garden had been something close to euphoric, heightened only by Aunt Petunia's wailing and Vernon's hollering at his worse fears shaved into his son's head, and almost as good as getting the Maths award for Best in School

Almost as good as the past three weeks had been. School had broken off late June and the Dursley's had immediately packed their suitcases and flown off on holiday one morning without a word, as usual. Good riddance! Three weeks of pure bliss, no chores, pizza and ice cream for dinner and sleeping in. He'd gone and snuck into the nearby cinema and watched all the movies available, visited the charity shops in town for some better fitting clothes and even visited Greater Whinging. The best part though, was that M.E.E.P (My Extravagant Escape Plan) was finally coming into fruition.

In between gorging on all the things he'd missed since their last holiday and was banned from during the year, Harry had taken a bus to London to board a train at King's Cross Station, bound for southern Wales. And then a ferry to Northern Ireland. Then to Scotland. To Manchester and finally, back to London. He had gone on a spree of exams, testing for the best scholarships in the country.

The results were also due to arrive tomorrow. Just enough time for the other residents of Number Four to return, get a good, ignorant night's sleep and settle before their abnormal nephew wrecked it all to hell.

 _"education is the key to success…"_

Harry Potter, aged nearly fourteen, smirked and got out the vacuum.

* * *

A/N: Just a little somethin' I found languishing at the bottome of my WIPs, and I thought maybe posting it would give me some more inspiration (or a nice comment might kickstart the dead writer in me? . )

Anyways, thanks for reading, let me know what you think!

Tentative WIP?


End file.
